Persuading Her: A Modern Persuasion Retelling (Pemberley Estates Book 2)

by Keena Richins

  "Want me to talk to her?"

  "No, definitely not. You'll tell her awful stories of my youth."

  A squeal sounded on the other line and Rick jerked the phone away from his ear.

  "Al!" Sophy cried, her voice faint as she directed it toward Al. "She said yes!"

  "I didn't say that!" Rick insisted, trying hard not to laugh. "You make it sound like I proposed!"

  "Oh, you better have not. I want to be around when you do!"

  "No, that is definitely not happening."

  "Please!"

  "You know what, I am not continuing this topic. But you still owe me that favor."

  "Okay, okay. What do you need?"

  He explained how to find the nearly invisible yellow dots on a recently printed sheet of paper. It took her a while before she finally could tell him what she found. He compared it with the documents in his hands, then grinned when he found a matching code on the cover sheet.

  "Thank you, Sophy. We just saved Anne."

  "She was in trouble?"

  "I'll tell you the details later. When I bring her over tonight." This time, Rick was ready and kept the phone away from his ear as his sister squealed.

  After listening to his sister's ravings of excitement, he called up his boss. Rick had a speech ready to prove Will's guilt, but Bingley believed him on the spot.

  "I don't need to see the proof. If you say it is so, then I'm going with what you said."

  Rick gulped, stunned by the level of trust Bingley was giving him. "Thank you, sir, that means a lot to me."

  "I've known you longer than this Will Elliott and you've never led me astray before. I will have our legal team look into everything again. It took weeks the first time so it will take some time again, but, rest assured, we will get to the bottom of this. I hate the thought we are charging an innocent man. I'll have personally apologize to the man and his poor family."

  "I'm sure he'll understand you were only doing your best. And I believe Will has been done this before so it's not your fault you fell for it."

  "So Will's a con artist?"

  "Something like that, yeah."

  "Well, I'm so glad you figured this out. What a mess this could have ended up. Are you sure you don't want that job?"

  Rick laughed. "I'm afraid I love the travel too much to give it up right now."

  "Ah, I see. Well, whenever you're ready to settle down, let me know. Any spot you want will be yours."

  "Thank you, sir. That is a huge honor."

  "You deserve it."

  Rick thanked him again, then hung up. The day was going so well that Rick couldn't wait to top it off by calling the girl of his dreams.

  "Rick!" Anne gushed and Rick wished she'd say his name like that several more times. "Were you able to reach your boss?"

  "Better than that. I have the papers!"

  He got his wish when she gushed his name again. "That's amazing!"

  Relishing in her praise, he detailed the process and even mentioned that his boss would personally apologize to her and her family.

  "Hey," he continued once finished, "can I see you? Where are you?" He wanted to tell her about Sophy's invitation in person.

  "I'm at a restaurant, about to meet Russelle."

  It was like she sucked all the good out of the day. Russelle. The lady who, with Anne's father, had convinced her to abandon him.

  "She'll be handling my father's case. Do you want to come? She'd love to hear what you just told me."

  Rick glared at his feet. Technically, he should go. He had promised Anne to give the woman a chance. But this had been such a perfect day! Why ruin it by meeting that woman?

  As if guessing his reluctance, Anne added, "Livvy, the friend I was telling you about, she'll also be there and she would love to meet you."

  He perked up at that name. Anne had mentioned Livvy had encouraged her to go after him; definitely someone he wanted to get to know better. And if she was there, then she might negate any negative influence Russelle might exert.

  He blew out his breath. "All right, I'll come."

  * * *

  Arriving at the address Anne had given him, he trudged toward the restaurant, not at all excited for the meeting. If Russelle disapproved of him again, he wasn't sure what he'd do. If only he could know for sure that Anne wouldn't listen to her and still be by his side.

  Despite the gloom, when he spotted his vision of beauty, he couldn't help the skip in his step. Her back was to him, her face scanning the crowd before her and Rick couldn't resist surprising her by slipping his arms around her waist. To his delight, she immediately leaned into him.

  "Hey you," she said, tilting her head up to see him. "You're late."

  He grinned. "By eight years?"

  She laughed. "Yeah, that, too. You ready?" She tried to take a step forward, but he tightened his grasp and buried his face into her hair, relishing in her scent. Desperate for assurance, he muttered, "You're going to laugh, but, promise me, you'll come out of this meeting still wanting to be with me."

  He held still, waiting for his doom. Anne said nothing, only squirmed out of his tight grasp. With a sigh, he let her go. To his surprise, she turned and cupped his face with her soft hands. She leveled those chocolate eyes onto his. "I survived eight MISERABLE years without you. I am never going to let you go again, okay?"

  He so badly wanted to kiss her right there and then. But they were in the middle of the street, so he straightened up instead. "Okay, I can meet your Russelle now."

  He held out his hand and Anne grinned, happily interlacing her fingers with his. Then they strolled into the restaurant.

  To Russelle's credit, not a hint of emotion crossed her face when Rick entered her vision. Anne's friend, Livvy, on the other hand, looked like she was struggling not to burst into a dance. And the glances she made between him and Anne told him she was definitely in favor of their relationship. Russelle, however, focused solely on the point of the meeting, treating Rick as just someone with information. Luckily, he had very good information and he finally saw respect enter into her eyes. Now it was his turn to struggle not breaking into a dance.

  But the best part of the whole meeting was walking away from it, hand in hand with Anne. He might never like Russelle, but he had to admit, the lady knew how to handle a case. And she certainly knew how to eschew emotion and focus on facts. With that type of a personality, he could see why she saw nothing to admire in him as a troubled, ex-foster boy. Still, he was happy that he wouldn't have to meet her on a daily basis.

  There was another lady, however, he wouldn't mind seeing every day, and said lady kept texting him, wanting to know the exact time he was bringing Anne over. Once he gave the question to Anne, it was decided the time would be immediate, a proposal Sophy had no qualm with.

  "Anne!" Sophy cried when they arrived and she wrapped her arms around Anne. "I'm so excited you're going to be in our family!"

  "Sophy!" Al admonished. "He still has to propose first!"

  Rick laughed and wrapped an arm around Anne. "Technically, I already did, about eight years ago."

  "And the answer is still 'yes'." Anne offered, pulling him in for a kiss, an action he had no desire to resist.

  Epilogue

  Though life was perfect with Anne and his family, her family still had the ongoing case to handle. For Anne's sake, he offered to help and she dragged him to Livvy's apartment to help with sorting out all the information the short lady had dug up on Will. He was rather impressed with the mountain of paperwork she'd gathered in a year, though not entirely thrilled to have to slog through it all, looking for anything that could help Anne's father.

  However, that all changed as he pulled out one dusty box and began sorting through the papers. A name on a folder caught his eye and he stared at it as if it had morphed into a little alien.

  "What is it?" Anne asked from across the tiny apartment. She sat with Livvy on the worn-out couch, nearly drowned by the piles of paper surrounding her. "Did yo
u find something?"

  Rick worked his jaw for a moment. "Livvy, where did you get this?"

  Livvy pushed a box out of her lap and plodded over to his spot. "Oh, sorry," she reached for the fat folder, but he pulled it away.

  "Where did you get this?" He repeated, his eyes still locked on the name on the folder.

  "That has nothing to do with Will. That was something for my cousin--"

  He snapped his eyes to her. "Your cousin? What was her name?"

  "Not a her. His name is Willoubhy. I helped him file for this invention he found--"

  "Called Elisheba."

  "Well, he initially called it that, but I convinced him to file it under--"

  Rick stood up. "Sorry, I have to make a call."

  "Rick?" Anne stood up as well. "What's wrong?"

  "I have a friend who has been looking for this for nearly five years." He dialed Brandon's phone number, hoping he wasn't off in someplace without cell service. Luckily, the man picked up on the third ring.

  "Rick, hey, sorry, this isn't a good--"

  "Make time, then. I swear you will want to hear this cause you'll never guess what I just found."

  THE END

  Author's Note

  I hope you enjoyed Rick's story. Persuasion is my favorite of Jane Austen's books and writing Rick's side was a real treat, especially since I was able to include a lot more scenes with Sophy and Al. They're not prominent in the original story, but the version I designed of them made them one of my favorite characters to write in this story.

  If you liked this retelling, please consider leaving a review. It's such a huge help for me and allows others to take a chance to read Anne's story.

  If you're wondering what Anne was thinking throughout the story, you should check out the companion novel: Persuading Him

  Other retellings of Jane Austen will be forthcoming, each with a her and his side. Next up is Sense and Sensibility, starting with Elinor. Here is a taste of her book:

  Sense without Sensibility

  Chapter 1 Excerpt

  "How are you doing today, Dad?" Elinor asked.

  Her father blinked, his gray eyes focusing on her as if she had abruptly appeared before him.

  "How are you doing today, Dad," her father repeated with a slight warble to his voice and stared at her, blinking several times, his eyebrows scrunching low in confused concentration. Then he brightened. "Fine. I'm fine."

  Elinor waited, hoping he might ask the simple question in return. But he stared straight ahead, his eyes losing focus, whatever moment of clarity he'd found disappearing.

  Elinor kept a brave, calm face and squeezed her father's left hand. She sat alone in the small, hospital-like room, her chair pulled up to her father's. The TV flickered behind her, a black and white show her father may have watched when he was younger, maybe even loved, but he would have no recollection of it now. The right side of his face drooped and his right hand lay eternally clenched in a fist; the outward signs of the stroke that had instantly robbed him of his mind. Post-stroke dementia, the nurses had called it. Recovery was possible, they had said, and at first, everyone was hopeful, especially as he relearned how to eat and dress himself, but as the days turned into months with no real progress of his mind, the hopes began to die.

  "Your son is coming to visit us today," Elinor said in a cheerful voice. She didn't know how much her father truly understood, but in case he comprehended more than anyone thought, she didn't want him worrying about her. "You remember him, right?"

  He blinked at her as if she had spoken in a different language. "No?"

  She patted his hand. "Your son, John. John Dashwood," she added in the hopes that hearing his last name would help. "From your first marriage. I'll try to encourage him to come and visit you."

  She doubted he would. Her step-brother had rushed over when the stroke had first happened, but once he saw the shell of a father the stroke had left, he had made up excuses to avoid seeing his father ever again. To be fair, her own mother—her father's second wife—and her two sisters also hated visiting the wreck of a man they had once adored. So, it fell upon Elinor to keep up the weekly visits, a duty she was determined to maintain no matter how much it hurt.

  "I believe," Elinor continued, keeping her tone happy and light, "he's coming to finalize our financial situation." Though her father had enough wealth to afford this expensive residential home for the mentally-impaired for over twenty years, most of it was in hard assets like businesses and property. John, having been assigned as her father's power of attorney after a previous health scare, had begun to determine what could be sold. Despite the fact that Elinor's mother had very little legal say in her husband's wealth thanks to a prenup, John had sought his stepmother's opinion. She, however, had been so overwhelmed with grief that she had insisted he make the decisions alone. And while Elinor was sure John never had any intention of abusing his new power, her family had neglected to factor in John's wife, Fanny.

  Fanny, on the outside, was a pretty lady who knew all the proper steps to appear gracious, but on the inside, didn't have an ounce of kindness. Fanny didn't care about anyone unless it helped her and Elinor was sure that when Fanny had heard of the stroke, her first thought must have been to estimate the amount of inheritance she might get from her father-in-law's pending death, despite the fact that she had made sure to marry an affluent businessman.

  Still, as the days passed and the father dared to continue living instead of dying and giving her his money, Fanny probably began to needle her husband, insinuating the loss of money as the father remained in the expensive residential home. John, perhaps goaded by his wife, had once asked if Elinor and her family could take in their father and care for him instead, but Elinor had quickly pointed out how woefully inadequate their mother and the three girls would be in lifting and moving their heavy father around. Though her father could feed himself if given a utensil and could stand if prompted, he couldn't walk and would need to be carried to a bathroom.

  Once John understood it was impossible, he had given up pestering them. But, only a month later, he abruptly announced he was coming to visit, and Elinor dreaded it was a new attempt for Fanny to get her inheritance money early.

  The nurse walked in and Elinor stood up, aware it was time for dinner.

  "Goodbye, Dad. I'll come next week."

  Her father stared blankly at where she had once sat, not realizing she had moved.

  "It's okay, dearie," the nurse said, patting Elinor's back. "He knows you love him."

  She forced a happy smile. "Thank you. And thank you for taking such good care of him."

  "Of course," the nurse said as she wheeled him out of the room. Elinor waved goodbye but wasn't surprised when he didn't react. Keeping on a contented smile, she bid goodbye to all the nurses she encountered on her way out and maintained the happy facade until she sat in the safety of her car, driving into the evening traffic. The tears came then, like they always did when she drove home from visiting her father. As the oldest of three sisters with a mother who was still grappling with grief, Elinor knew she needed to set an example of being happy and composed. No one was going to believe things could work out okay if she wasn't doing the same. And as long as she kept her bouts of crying inside the car, then no one needed to know how much she was dying inside.

  As she pulled into the drive of their three-story home, she checked the rearview mirror and touched up her make-up to hide the tell-all signs of tears. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly, willing herself to be, once again, the happy, calm older sister who could handle her family's woes.

  Once composed, she headed inside and found somber tones of a piano filling the home. That would be her middle sister, Marianne. And if she had been playing like that for longer than ten minutes, then their mother must be sobbing somewhere right now.

  Placing her keys on the rack—and organizing the keys that had been deposited on the counter instead of the rack—she hurried to her mother's room where,
like she had guessed, she heard muffled sniffles behind the closed door.

  She knocked twice. "Mom?"

  There was a scurry of movement before the door opened to reveal the red face of her dear mother. Though barely over forty, she seemed to have added ten years since her husband's stroke. Lines Elinor had never noticed now heavily creased her mother's forehead and gathered around her puffy eyes.

  "Oh, Elinor, you're home." She indicated for her to enter the room. "How was Dad?"

  "Very good." Elinor made a point to always give a happy report about him in the hopes it would ease her mother's pain. "He recognized me today after I told him my name." A rare occurrence.

  Her mother sank onto her bed. "Was he happy?"

  Elinor sat next to her. "He was watching an old movie when I arrived. He seemed to enjoy it."

  "Oh, yes. He always liked those old black and white movies. Especially the western ones."

  Elinor couldn't help smiling as memories of watching those western movies with her father stirred within her mind. "Yes, he did."

  Her mother patted her hand. "You're so good to go each week. I don't know how you do it. You're a miracle worker."

  Elinor maintained her smile, pleased her plan was uplifting her mother. "How are the other two?"

  Her mother sighed. "I haven't seen Maggie all day and Marianne, well…" She cocked her head toward the drifting tones of the piano.

  "Has she been playing all day?"

  "No, only since after lunch when I told her that John was coming for dinner tonight."

  "Mmm." She patted her mother's hand. "I'll go see if I can lighten her mood."

  Her mother squeezed Elinor's hand. "That would be wonderful, dear. I'll start working on dinner. Wouldn't want John to think we're giving him the shaft with a late dinner."

  Elinor doubted John would consider that, but his wife might. Thankfully, she wasn't coming.